There was a silence. The sheriff’s man shifted from one foot to the other, making the dried leaves crunch underfoot. Then the sheriff himself took a deep breath. “You’re right, little lady,” he said. “That blow had to come from a right-handed person. Very astute of you. When that English guy said you’d been involved in solving some murders, I didn’t take him seriously.” He turned away, staring out into the trees. “Well, dang me. Now it looks like we’re back to square one. Unless you’ve some thoughts of your own?”

“I really don’t know what to think,” I said. “I don’t know any of these people and why they might have wanted Mr. Goldman dead. But it had to be someone who hated Miss Brightwell, didn’t it? Why else would one put the stolen candlestick in her bed?”

He nodded. “Well, we’re actually one step closer. We’ve just found the bloody glove.” He indicated what his man was now holding in a handkerchief.

“It’s quite small, isn’t it?” I said. “Either a man with small hands or a woman. I wonder if it was dropped accidentally or deliberately. This isn’t exactly on anyone’s route to where they were sleeping last night, is it?” I looked up at the castle wall. “But it must be below the library. Is it possible that someone did climb out of the window?”

“Meaning that it might have been an intruder after all? Someone who came to steal valuable objects and was surprised to be caught in the act by Goldman? But then how did the candlestick get in Miss Brightwell’s bed? And how did the intruder get out without being seen?”

I shook my head. “I know. None of it makes sense, does it? If it really was a robber, then why not take the candlestick or the El Greco painting, which is apparently even more valuable?”

“Perhaps someone tried to set this up to make it look like an outside robbery attempt,” the sheriff said. “Dropping the glove out here where he knew it would be found. . . .”

“That is possible—” I broke off at the sound of footsteps coming toward us and heard Darcy’s voice calling, “Georgie? Are you out here?”

“Over here, Darcy,” I called back.

Darcy ran over to us. “Thank God. I got worried when you didn’t come back to the kitchen and then the front door was open and I couldn’t find you.”

“This little lady has a good head on her shoulders,” the sheriff said. “She’s just shown me that Stella Brightwell couldn’t have killed Mr. Goldman.”

“She’s left-handed,” I said to Darcy. “That blow was struck by a right-handed person.”

“Well done,” Darcy said.

“And we’ve found a bloody glove.”

Darcy stared at it. “A black leather glove like the one our cat burglar wears.”